


Becoming Illidari

by WoW-Archive (Kryptaria)



Series: Tales of Azeroth [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Demon Hunters, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Mardum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 01:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/WoW-Archive
Summary: Eat the heart of a demon, claim its power. Every demon hunter undergoes this ritual to become Illidari.Few are foolish enough to repeat it.





	Becoming Illidari

The imp mother’s body slipped from blood-slick warglaives. Black blood oozed into the pool of fel lava. Fel green flared against Rithael’s senses before splashing away. A bloated shadow reared up from the depths with a discordant roar.

 _Another one,_ he realized. And this one wasn’t alone. It was surrounded by a horde of cackling imps, mature and overripe with fel energy. As one, they launched a barrage of felflame globules.

Rithael threw himself into a backwards somersault without gutting himself on his own warglaives. He came up with a battle cry and charged the imps, closing to a lethal distance. His warglaives slashed through the rank air, cleaving through the pack of demons. Shards of tainted souls flickered in the darkness, purple on black, lighting his path right to the one who’d birthed the imps from the Twisting Nether.

He was fast, but not fast enough. A gout of fel flame slammed into his chest, searing into bare skin. He clenched his teeth against the agony, using it to fuel his strength as he lashed out with both warglaives. The imp mother’s flesh was rubbery, clinging to his blades. The serrated edges ripped out gouts of flesh instead of slicing cleanly, tearing screams of terror and pain from the imp mother.

Her demonic shrieks — “Attack! Kill the intruder!” — turned to pleas for mercy that fell on deaf ears. Rithael felt the last shards of her soul tear free, and her lifeless body collapsed in on itself, deflating with a wet _splat_. An instant before he could fall into the fel pool below, he kicked off her corpse, landing on one knee in the too-cold, ashy dirt of Mardum’s surface.

Behind him, the last of the dying imps succumbed, its soul too weak to crack into shards he could use to draw strength. Which was unfortunate, to say the least, because the battle wasn’t done. The rock beneath him trembled, and he lifted his head as his senses filled with the rich purple hues of one of the nathrezim.

His balance was shaky, but he got to his feet all the same. With aching hands, he clenched his warglaives. He hadn’t come this far to die, not even to a solitary dreadlord. Steeling himself, he braced against a psychic assault that didn’t come.

The demon’s thoughtful hum scraped across Rithael’s skin like gravel. “Illidari,” the dreadlord rumbled, voice so low Rithael felt it in his bones.

Was this one of Lord Illidan’s servitors?

Mardum was a place that crushed hope. Rithael didn’t dare let his guard drop. “Nathrezim,” he answered, feeling the vibrations of the lifeless rock under the ashy dirt, seeking out any obstacles between himself and the demon. The brief moments since he’d felled the imp mother, though only a few seconds, had given him renewed strength. Raw chaos would power his rush at the dreadlord, hopefully letting him close with his warglaives before the dreadlord could strike back — or, worse, take to the air, where Rithael would be powerless to attack.

“You wish to close the nearby portal,” the dreadlord said, pointing into the darkness with one clawed finger.

On the other side of the shadowy ridge, the fel portal pulsed with energy, calling to Rithael’s senses. Close the portals, slow the Burning Legion’s infestation, clear the path for the main strike force to uncover the location where the Sargerite Keystone was hidden. Simple.

Hardly.

There was no point in lying. The Illidari incursion onto Mardum was no secret. Their covert initial attack had secured an invasion point and opened portals for their allies — the Shivarra and the Ashtongues — but now they had an army in place. The time for stealth had passed.

“I _will_ close it,” Rithael promised, holding back the urge to burn the air around himself. Rage gave him strength, but there were limits to how long he could sustain that level of fury. He had to conserve his power. Not even spectral sight could penetrate the ridge to warn him what forces lay beyond, guarding the portal.

The dreadlord bared its fangs, gleaming bone-white against the void-tainted darkness of its mouth. In an oily tone, it said, “Then I will assist you, Illidari.”

It was an ally then — or pretending to be one, for the moment. Good enough.

Rithael rose from his defensive crouch, though he didn’t sheathe his warglaives. “In Illidan’s name.”

The dreadlord laughed, nodding its head, wings flaring purple-black against the fel-clouded sky. “Indeed.”

 

* * *

 

Outland had been a target-rich environment for the Illidari, or so Rithael had thought, until Mardum. He’d slaughtered more demons since coming through the portal than he had in all the years he’d served Illidan.

The power was intoxicating.

All around him, the field of ash was littered with demonic corpses. Fel green and shadowy purple sparks floated through the air, sometimes flaring bright in pulses he could feel on the tattoos etched into his chest and arms.

“You fight with skill, Illidari,” the dreadlord beside him said. It was crouched low, one fist resting on the earth, wings folded to its back. A fool would’ve thought the posture submissive, deferent, a sign that the dreadlord knew it was outmatched, but fools did not survive long in the ranks of the demon hunters.

What did it want from Rithael? No nathrezim did anything without motive, but their plans within plans were so layered, it was pointless to try and untangle them. Rithael had no time for games. He’d use the dreadlord until it decided to stop playing; then, he’d end the thing’s fel existence and take its power for his own. So he just gave the dreadlord a brief nod of acknowledgement and turned to face the portal, though he kept all his senses focused on his demonic companion, wary of an attack from behind.

But the nathrezim wasn’t the only threat to be found here. The air was thick with fel souls that Rithael could channel into the portal, overloading it to cut off one more channel of reinforcements from the Burning Legion, but the backlash would be too much for him to contain. And while some Illidari were happy to give their lives in Illidan’s service, Rithael preferred others to make the ultimate sacrifice in his place.

“We need to contain the power of the portal’s destruction,” he said, turning back to the nathrezim.

It rose from its crouch like a cloud of noxious smoke, wings fluttering idly. “I can assist with grounding the excess energy,” it offered.

Rithael nearly refused — he’d been hoping for suggestions, not an offer of actual help — but then thought better of it. If the nathrezim wanted him dead, it could’ve taken advantage of his distraction any time during their battle. Instead, it had fought at his side, never interfering, even going so far as to guard his back. Whatever its endgame was, it wanted more than just Rithael’s death.

So he nodded, moving close enough to find the weakest point in the portal’s energy field. Behind him, the fel energy over the battlefield stirred restlessly. He took a deep breath and reached for it, opening himself as a conduit to channel the tainted souls into the portal’s stabilizing matrix.

For a single heartbeat, everything flared so bright, he felt the memory of tears in his destroyed eyes. Raw power coursed through him, scoring a web of cracks through flesh and bone into his soul.

Then dark wings spread, casting him into cool shadow. Power rushed out into the portal and down through the nathrezim crouched beside him. It was like a broken limb snapping back into alignment, and Rithael laughed as the portal crumbled in on itself with ease.

Beside him, the nathrezim also chuckled, rising to its full height. It towered over Rithael, but it didn’t seem like so much of a threat at the moment.

“What now, Illidari?” it asked, folding its wings back with a snap.

Rithael lifted his head, scanning the area with his spectral sight until he spotted the distant pulse of fel energy that marked another portal. One of his brethren was probably assigned to it, but he was close enough to offer assistance — or to reach it first. How many portals could he shut down before exhaustion drove him back to the shelter of their incursion point?

Determined to continue the mission Lord Illidan had entrusted to the strike force, he turned his senses to the tainted air, tasting the fel power of the portals and the death his brethren brought to the portal guardians. _There,_ he thought as he pinpointed a font of discordant power, untouched by the Illidari hunters. Either their recon forces had missed it or the demons were building portals to replace those already destroyed.

Return to the incursion point or deal with the rogue portal? For Rithael, it was no choice at all. His two sisters were as safe as anyone could be in the ruins of Silvermoon City; as far as he knew, the rest of his family was dead.

There was nothing left for him but the war.

“We continue,” he said, starting for the distant portal. “And we don’t stop until the last portal is closed.”

 

* * *

 

“You fight with passion,” the nathrezim said as calmly as if they were sitting down for tea, not hacking their way up a demon-infested slope. Not content to hang back and let Rithael do all the work, it fought by his side, wielding felfire and claws with equal ferocity.

“Illidari,” was all Rithael managed to say, most of his attention focused on not bleeding out. Even with the nathrezim’s help, the reinforcements guarding the third portal he’d found were putting up a brutal defense, one that showed no signs of abating.

With a snarl, he ignited the air around him, wrapping himself in flames that seared him unpleasantly but inflicted racking agony on any demon that touched him. Their shrieks of pain renewed his flagging willpower, giving him the strength to advance a few more precious steps, putting him almost in reach of the portal.

The nathrezim gave a casual flick of one hand. “Actually I was recalling another sin’dorei.”

Was this really a time for conversation?

Rithael grunted acknowledgement over the _snap-crack-thud_ of the nathrezim’s wings slamming into the hulking form of a mo’arg, reducing it to a whimpering puddle of felblood. Its tainted soul uncoiled like greasy smoke rising from a burning corpse, and Rithael snatched at the power eagerly. This was no time to be fastidious.

Undaunted by Rithael’s gruff response, the nathrezim continued, “Yes, you do remind me of _her_.”

Had the nathrezim fought with other Illidari before? There were countless women in their ranks, but Rithael had never paid much attention to any of them, save as comrades and rivals. And the way the demon had purred _“her”_ implied something — _someone_ — far more personal.

Rithael nearly faltered; only a dive-bombing felbat pulled his thoughts away from the only two women in his life, at least since their mother had died. His older sister, Rithali, was safe back home in Silvermoon City, working her way up through the ranks in the city guard. There was no possible reason for a nathrezim to know she existed, much less to have encountered her.

But their younger sister, Rishani... As a new recruit in the Royal Guard, Rishani might have come into contact with one of the greater demons, but surely only long enough to kill it. She would never allow a demon to escape her wrath. Not her, then.

Which meant _this_ was the nathrezim’s game: The Illidari sacrificed all to protect their loved ones, their people, even Azeroth itself from the Burning Legion. What better way to toy with an Illidari than to fight alongside them, gain their trust, and then tease at “remembering” someone without naming names?

A swipe of Rithael’s warglaives ripped one of the felbat’s wings from its body as he growled, “Is now really the time to chat?”

Despite knowing his sisters were safe, there was something ominous about the nathrezim’s chuckle. “Merely a passing thought,” it said, casually backhanding an imp into oblivion.

Biting back a frustrated huff, Rithael focused on carving his way closer to the portal. If not for the ash that absorbed any hint of liquid, he would’ve been ankle-deep in demon blood. It was almost too bad he was alone; given a dozen more demon hunters, they could’ve used all this death-energy to shatter the nearest four or five portals. But even with a nathrezim at his side, he had no hope of channeling even a tenth of that energy.

Especially not when the nathrezim was _still_ distracting him, saying, “I can see why Balnazzar was so interested in her. She shared the same qualities as you. Ferocity, fearlessness, a thirst for blood...”

 _That_ sounded like his younger sister, Rishani, who channeled her anger into a drive to excel. She hadn’t hesitated to take up their mother’s sword during the battle outside Tranquilien, earning her way into the Royal Guard with the blood of the Scourge. His elder sister, Rithali, was much more level-headed.

Teeth sank into his calf, jerking his thoughts back to the moment. He slashed down, but his warglaive was deflected by the felbeast’s horns. The creature let go, and he blasted it with a ticking time bomb of fire. A kick sent it flying off to the side, its squeals ending abruptly when it exploded in a rain of burning quills and scales.

“Unfortunate that she lacked your discretion,” the nathrezim said with a shrug that rippled through its wings. “In the end, she followed Balnazzar quite willingly. I suppose an... _affinity_ for demons runs in your bloodline.”

Rithael froze in horror. _No._

His twisted senses focused on the nathrezim’s face, contorted into an expression that might have been sympathy, if not for the mocking light in its eyes. It raised a hand, fel flames bursting around its claws, and launched a ball of sticky fire at Rithael, who couldn’t dive away in time.

No, not _at_ him. _Past_ him, into the chest of the doomguard stomping toward them. Fire splashed, and the nathrezim let loose a roar that shocked him out of his paralysis.

Glad to have a target for his anger, he turned the air to fire once more and surged at the doomguard in a rush of chaos energy. It parried his first attack and tried to counter, but he slashed and hacked, carving off chunks of its flesh, a fragment of its soul breaking free with every blow. Purple energy sparked through him, giving him strength, knitting his wounds, as he consumed the demon’s life force one piece at a time.

When the doomguard fell, a burned-out husk of armor and leathery skin, he turned back to the nathrezim. “Explain,” he demanded, hands tightening around the hilts of his warglaives.

The nathrezim gestured to the portal. “Shall we?” it suggested, innocence dripping from its words.

Rithael growled under his breath. “First, give me the sin’dorei’s name.”

The nathrezim’s wings flared. “ _Mission_ first, Illidari,” it taunted, and rational thought vanished in a rush of hot, deadly rage.

_It dares call me to task?_

The warglaives hummed in Rithael’s hands as if urging him to give in and strike. He clenched his fists against leather grips slick with demonic blood. But the nathrezim was useful — necessary, even, for grounding the portal energy that might well burn out Rithael’s soul if he wasn’t careful.

Teeth clenched, he gave a grudging nod before he headed to the portal, finding the weak spot in its energy matrix. The nathrezim took its place at his side, and they gathered the fel power around them without the need for words to coordinate. Power flowed through them both like liquid silk and flame, a burning spear launched straight at the heart of the portal.

But Rithael’s anger gave that power a push even the nathrezim couldn’t mitigate. Instead of collapsing in on itself, the portal exploded, a bright flare of fel power that shot straight up into the sky before the shockwave blasted out in all directions, sending them both flying.

Swept off his feet, Rithael slammed into the ash, gasping for breath. His warglaives were gone, and he clawed at his chest, convinced his ribs had shattered under the impact. But there was no blood, no torn flesh, not even any bruising, and when he rolled over onto all fours, he didn’t collapse from the pain, though the world spun dizzily around him.

The nathrezim chuckled weakly from not too far away. “Your... power grows... Illidari.”

“Yes. It does,” Rithael muttered, realizing now was his moment. He groped for the warglaives that called to him. He swept them up as he rose, and two quick steps brought him to the nathrezim before it could regain its feet.

“Your master will —” The nathrezim went still, jerking its head back from the tip of the warglaive under its chin. Its snarl flared bone-white against Rithael’s senses. _“What?”_

“The name,” Rithael demanded, trying not to gasp for breath. The concussive wave still had him stunned; only anger kept him on his feet. “The sin’dorei’s name.”

“Aah...” Flat on its back, the nathrezim couldn’t flare its wings. The tips stirred up clouds of ash. “Yes, you know her —” It cut off with an indignant growl as the tip of the warglaive drew a drop of viscous black blood.

_“The name.”_

Lips curled back from pointed teeth, the nathrezim snapped, “The Blood Knight Rishani!”

_No!_

Without a moment’s hesitation, Rithael punched forward with the warglaive, driving the point through the nathrezim’s jaw and into its skull, too quickly for the nathrezim to retaliate.

But greater demons didn’t die easily — especially not the dreadlord. Rithael knew better than to trust the nathrezim’s “death” without taking steps. Exhaustion weighing down his arms, he hacked down across the demon’s throat, again and again, until the demon’s head rolled free. Smoky purple fumes oozed out of the wound, coalescing into the demon’s soul.

Before it could slip away into the Twisting Nether to await rebirth in a suitable host body, Rithael dropped one warglaive and snatched at the soul. It pulsed in his hand, faster than a mortal’s heart would beat, sending tingling vibrations up into his arm. With his other warglaive, he cut down through the nathrezim’s chest, chopping through bone and armor to reveal the flesh and organs beneath.

The demon’s heart was a shriveled mass of fibrous tentacles coiled around one another, a nest of stringy worms coated in oozing blood. He dropped the warglaive and plunged his hand into the chest cavity, skin crawling at the _wrongness_ of its touch. He pulled and tugged and finally ripped the heart free. It squirmed, beating in ripples across his palm, synchronized with the pulsing of the demon’s soul.

A lifetime ago, on a high plateau of Lord Illidan’s conquered Black Temple, Rithael had undergone the ritual to infuse himself with fel energy. It had taken all his willpower to eat the heart of an imp, barely a mouthful of slime and gristle. Nightmares of those few bites still plagued him.

But now, he regarded the trembling organ in his grasp with nothing but fury. This dreadlord knew Rishani’s name. It accused her of consorting with another dreadlord, with willingly turning her back on their people to serve the Burning Legion.

Rithael needed to know the truth. More importantly, he needed to conceal that truth from everyone, until he could fight his way back to her side.

Before he could reconsider, he bit into the heart. Ropey muscle squished under his teeth and reluctantly gave way with a sticky snap, blood searing his tongue like acid. Fragments of the soul in his other hand slipped free, healing the damage to his mouth as he took another bite, then another, forcing himself to swallow despite how his throat and stomach burned. Every bite weighed him down until he was on his knees beside the dreadlord’s shriveled corpse, chest heaving, head bowed.

Beneath him, fel green light glowed like a beacon, shimmering with every breath. He lifted a trembling hand to touch his chest, watching the shadow of his fingers splayed through the light of what had once been dark tattoos. Touching them sent hot tingles up into his arm.

He jerked his head up, and the world spun for a moment before he realized he was fighting the weight of his own body. His own _horns_. Staggering, he got to his feet, and wings spread at his back.

_What have I done?_

But the moment’s horror fell away under the realization that he was _strong_. He bent, wings flared to balance the weight of his new horns, and swept up his warglaives. A single leap let him glide over the nathrezim’s corpse, and he laughed with the power at his fingertips.

To defeat the Burning Legion, Illidan had embraced their fel power, sacrificing himself to save countless worlds from the Legion’s advance. Others had followed in his footsteps — and now, so had Rithael.

 _This_ was what it meant to be Illidari.

Laughing, Rithael bounded forward on wings of shadow and felfire, determined to take out the next portal on his own. But as his laugh faded, he heard the whisper in the back of his mind, and too late he realized that he might have made a terrible mistake.

 _“Illidari,”_ the nathrezim’s voice rumbled from deep inside his soul, full of rage that made Rithael stumble in the ash. In that moment, he realized hadn’t sent the nathrezim to the Twisting Nether. It was in him, a part of him.

“Gakustroth,” he grated, the demon’s name scraping his throat even more raw than the fel blood he’d swallowed. “What —”

 _“Illidari,”_ Gakustorth snarled back, fury beating like the wings of a captive bird against Rithael's soul. _“What have you done?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written at the start of Legion, because demon hunters are awesome. Now edited to hopefully be a bit more lore-compliant.
> 
> Belatedly adding a screenshot: https://twitter.com/JordanSBrock/status/1147653703035424768


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